Prophecy Bound
by The Itch
Summary: Albus Dumbledore's gift to Harry Potter was that of a childhood, no matter how troubled. He should have, perhaps, thought things through before placing the child with a family that hated him.
1. Chapter 1

Before you start reading this one, please take a moment to note:

THIS IS NOT A PLEASANT FIC.

It is not happy in any way. It is, in fact, partially based on a case from Cold Case Files on A&E. That should tell you right there why it's not a happy story.

* * *

**Prophecy Bound  
**_Chapter One_

The Itch

* * *

When Harry Potter's acceptance letter for Hogwarts returned unopened the first time, no one thought too much of it. For those 'in the know', as it were, they assumed it was just another case of a muggle not realizing that the letter spoke the truth. The standard response to that was simply to send another letter on. The next day was the same. The day after that, as well. In fact, for a week and a half there was no change in this, no matter how many letters were sent out. 

When the owls were told to wait for a response; that they were not allowed to leave until they got a definitive yes or no from the young Potter, something unusual happened.

Albus had simply been directing the owls to go to the Dursley household and drop the letter off with whoever was home and to await a response. When the birds had been shooed away, it was considered a response by them, and they had returned to Hogwarts still carrying their letters. This time, being directed to seek out Harry Potter, it was different.

The owls didn't leave.

Confused, Albus told them to go find Harry Potter. They still didn't leave.

For a moment, the Headmaster frowned in thought, considering what he knew of the Potter Bloodline, and the level and type of power Harry had within him. A jolly smile broke out on his face as he contemplated the possibility that Harry had accidentally transported himself to Hogwarts at some point, and had been living there ever since, hidden away from any prying eyes.

A thorough search of the entire castle through both mundane and magical means revealed that that had been something of a silly thought. Really, a boy only just eleven being able to apparate through Hogwarts' own wards? What had he been thinking? He really did need to lay off the fantasy novels! Those transporter beams may be able to transport people through outer space and through any sort of ward-shield, but they didn't really exist.

The Headmaster thought over this dilemma once again, and this time decided to send Hagrid on to the Dursley family.

The Half-Giant returned in a right fury-- apparently, the Dursleys had never even seen Harry Potter in the aftermath of Halloween 1981. The babe that had been left on the doorstep had vanished between when the wizards had left and when the Dursleys had awoken.

They'd also charged Hagrid for breaking down their door in his attempts to get in. They did not particularly enjoy being awoken in the middle of the night by an intruder, and that went doubly so for a /magical/ intruder. Albus simply patted Hagrid on the shoulder and made plans to make reparations. Given the Dursley's aversion to all things magical, he had to contact Arabella Figg in order to get information on muggle contractors to fix the damage done to the door.

This was when the alarm bells started ringing in his head; for when he explained to Arabella what had happened, she in turn reported that there /had/ been a second child at the Dursley household when she had moved in, but she'd only caught a glimpse of him from a distance. When he didn't show up again, she assumed that he was a friend that the Dursleys had arranged for Harry to have, and that the two boys had not gotten on.

She had mistaken Dudley Dursley for Harry Potter, not knowing that the boy that she could only watch from a distance-- Petunia and Vernon didn't want Dudley anywhere /near/ the crazy cat lady, and only partly because the boy was mildly allergic to cats-- was not the one she had been sent to watch over.

A sick feeling began to build in Albus' stomach, a worry that may have been ten years too late. Tamping down his worry and ill feelings, Albus asked Arabella to take a step back as he needed to investigate the Dursley household himself. Traveling through the floo, it came to Albus that he should get some 'back-up' as it were. A quick call to the ministry (and a "possible case of muggle abuse of a magical child") resulting in two Aurors coming through to act as his back-up. While this might have been a false alarm, Albus wasn't willing to take chances.

Not now. Not anymore.

The three of them-- the Aurors had introduced themselves, but Albus had been too busy worrying to listen-- walked up the street in their transfigured muggle clothing towards the Dursley household. Albus thought that the Auror's clothing was a bit bland, but then, he didn't realize that they were wearing the uniform of London's Police Inspectors. He, himself, was dressed in a charming orange and purple business suit that would have fit into the nineteen twenties if not for the colours.

Vernon was the one to answer the door, and he would have mouthed off to Albus and his obviously freakish nature, if it hadn't been for the two officers who stood between them. "Can I help you, Inspectors?"

The smaller of the two, whose presence had seemed incidental on the walk over, suddenly seemed to be the largest and most powerful man that Vernon had ever met. Sharp brown eyes were cold and completely focused, "I am Inspector Writewind and this is Inspector Calden. This is Professor Dumbledore, and he has brought some... information to our attention. If we may come in?"

Vernon swallowed a bit. Dumbledore was a name that his wife had warned him about, but he couldn't just throw out two Inspectors! As much as he wished to deny them entry, to do so would only make them more suspicious of him, and so he stepped aside. The three men entered, and Vernon guided them into the sitting room.

Inspector Writewind's gaze swept over the room, noting the decorations and the furniture. It was a well off home, though small, and it was well cared for. Inspector Calden turned his attention fully on the owner of the home. "Mister Dursley, we are here in an attempt to find your nephew, one Harry Potter."

Vernon's face reddened in annoyance. "I told the F-- the Professor from that school that we have never seen the boy. Not since the deaths of my in-laws."

A glance was shared between the inspectors, "You were aware of the deaths of the Potters then?"

"Of course!" the man blustered, "It was our happi... it was a sad day indeed to hear of their deaths."

Another glance, another question, "And yet you never saw Mister Potter?"

"What does the boy have to do with any of it?"

"My dear boy," Albus interjected, and the Inspectors themselves were surprised by the hard look in the kindly Headmaster's gaze, "The only way you could have known of their deaths were from the letter I left with Harry. The wards protecting this house would not allow any other information regarding the deaths of the Potters through." It was a standard procedure at the time, so as to prevent orphans from being tormented by Death Eaters with information of how their families had been killed, in explicit detail.

Vernon paled, and the Inspectors nodded.

Writewind slipped his wand out of his wrist holster. "Point Me: Harry Potter."

The wand spun around rapidly for a moment, then jerked to a halt above his hand. Calden clamped his hands down on Vernon's shoulders, and guided the man along with them as they followed the wand's direction. The result was a tall bookshelf that took up quite a bit of space alongside the stairwell. A flick of the wand, and the bookshelf slid down the wall and revealed a door beneath the stairs.

Albus' mouth ran dry and he was forced to lick his lips. The door did not look like it had seen the light of day in many years-- the wall was a different shade entirely, behind the bookshelf, as though the Dursleys had painted around the bookshelf instead of moving it. All around the door were sticks of incense, long since having lost their scent.

"Alohomora."

The door creaked in protest as it was opened, and the incense sticks fell to the floor. Yet there was no boy in the cupboard under the stairs-- only a large locked trunk. The wand was pointing at the trunk.

Albus couldn't bear to watch as the Inspectors levitated the trunk out of the cupboard. He couldn't watch as they opened it. That sick feeling deep inside nearly broke him as Inspector Calden cursed loudly. The Hogwarts Headmaster had to bow his head and fight back the tears before he could even contemplate turning to see the sight that was so horrifying.

It was an image that would never leave Albus' mind, until the day that he died.

For the Boy-Who-Lived was undoubtedly dead. From the looks of the tiny broken and mummified corpse, he hadn't even reached his second birthday; his skull caved in from a harsh blow.

* * *

End Chapter

Originally posted... what, a week ago? Something like that, under the Alternate Potterverse title as drabble number ten. Written as a sort of "response" to all those "Vernon is abusive!!!!1!!one!!1" stories. Before anyone goes off on me about the fact that Vernon and Petunia are canonly abusive, I'm talking about the extreme kind I see in a lot of fanfics-- you know, the "cave Harry's chest" or "break every bone in his body" or "Harry needs to wear a glamore all the time because he's so sickly and beaten up" type of abusive fics. If you ask me, if Vernon was that violent, Harry wouldn't have survived his first year with the Dursley family. Unless his violence originally came out of Harry's first bite of accidental magic, but you can look at AP10 if you want to see my thoughts on that.

Anyways, like I said at the beginning, it was partially based off of a case I saw a few times on A&E. A relative kills a child. Wraps the child up. Puts them in a trunk in a closet. Forgets about them. It was a little disturbing, especially when you consider that the only record of this child existing was the birth certificate, she was so young.

I will be continuing this, as it's my attempt at NaNoWriMo, though I sincerely doubt I'll manage it. Too many papers and whatnot due this semester. Who's bright idea was it to have NaNoWriMo during the one month when everything is due for college/university students, anyways?


	2. Chapter 2

And this is why I moved AP10 to it's own little file-space. Look guys, it's chapter two! You can blame Bukama for this.

* * *

**Prophecy Bound**  
_Chapter Two_  
The Itch

* * *

It had to have been the strangest case that Auror Jonathan Calden had ever been a part of to date. It also had to be the most heart wrenching and the most disturbing of cases. The ever-so-tiny body that they had recovered from the cupboard in the Dursley household had been carefully wrapped up; all but cradled in the man's lap as he took the very muggle method of transport known as a 'taxi' to the equally muggle plice headquarters in Surrey. They couldn't chance something like apparation or floo travel causing any damage to the body. 

While Calden's partner, the respected Khnumkhufu Writewind—and woe betide any who so much as dared to even think to call him by his full name, for he had such a temper as to match the legend of his namesake—had wanted to take the child into immediate magical custody, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had made an all too real point.

The Dursleys were muggles.

As much as Calden had wanted to agree with Writewind, as much as he had wanted to bring the child back into the magical world, he had to admit that Dumbledore was correct. Full-blooded muggles that they were, any justice that the magical world bestowed upon them would be considered as an attack against the non-magical people of Britain by the Crown. In the wake of both Lord Grindlewald and Lord Voldemort, there would be no leeway given to the men and women of magical Britain; they would be summarily wiped off the face of the planet, even if the justice was warranted.

If the Minister of Magic would only listen to reason and at least bring in muggle adjudicators during the trials of muggles against wizards, or even when it was muggleborns against wizards, then they could be assured that there would be no negative repercussions to Wizarding Britain. Unfortunately, Minister Fudge seemed to think that such things were beneath the station of wizards in the world, and had refused every attempt to at least bring the wizards and muggles together in order to enact both muggle and wizarding law.

So they were stuck with punishing the Dursley family though muggle means; but then, with the mountain of evidence that was so blatantly staring the Dursleys in the face, it was unlikely that they would even have the barest of a _chance_ at beating this particular rap. What could one say to having the corpse of a blood relative locked away in their home? Not only locked, but hidden. There was certainly nothing that could explain it away as an "honest mistake."

None of that particularly mattered at the moment, however. Calden was an Auror, and more importantly a respected Inspector with the muggle police. The only reason he could have this duality of jobs lay in the fact that he was muggleborn himself, and the Auror Corps had a long standing tradition of having some of their muggleborn members within the various muggle legal departments to help smooth along any particular… incidents.

Which, of course, led Calden to his current predicament; as he and Writewind had come through the floo for the fastest response, he had no vehicle of his own to return to his muggle employment. A taxi seemed the safest bet, especially when he was traveling with the major suspect. Vernon Dursley, face still flushed with a combination of fury and sickness sat quietly beside him, his hands handcuffed behind his back. The boy's mummified remains lay carefully wrapped in his lap.

The Taxi Driver had been eying him with some wariness for quite awhile, but as Calden had shown him his badge and had directed him to take them directly to the police, the driver was sure that he was at least partly safe. He had concentrated on memorizing the Inspector's features to make sure that he would have an accurate description should it turn out that the Inspector was not actually an Inspector, and that his prisoner was in no way legal.

It made for a long drive.

Unfortunately for Inspector Calden, the drive was not the only long part of his day. In fact, it was only the beginning. Question after question after question from his superiors, some of it quite degrading and unfortunately well within their rights to call him on it, had left Calden exhausted, and that wasn't even including how in blazes the muggle media had gotten ahold of the story. It was almost enough to make him sick.

So now he was working under the scrutiny of both his employers, magical and muggle alike, as well as the muggle media in order to do whatever he possibly could to bring the child's murderer to justice. It was a lot harder when he had to have physical evidence to back up any form of muggle justice.

Which meant it was a damn good thing that he had Reginald Jonas on his side. The man had exiled himself from the wizarding world sometime during Voldemort's reign of terror, and had never even considered going back to it. This may have had something to do with his own brand of "magic" that he had stumbled across, and had so delightfully captured his attention: the power of computers.

The man was a master of what he had delightfully termed 'technomancy', based off of some silly novel or another. Calden regularly tuned his coworker out when he went off onto one of his little spiels about computers, and technology, and electricity, and how it was all so carefully woven together. This time, however, Calden was quite ready to listen to whatever it was that Jonas intended to say and do regarding the young "hero".

Jonas had not been told who the child was, in order to help keep the information from leaking to any wizards that he may or may not still be in contact with. They were flying solo on this—as solo as they could get, anyways, with Writewind hovering the way he was. Calden rolled his eyes.

"Sit down, Khufu, you're just going to get in the way."

"I'll stand wherever I want to stand, Jon," Writewind grumbled, "I need to see what you're doing."

"Do you really?" Jonas mused as he focused his attention on the tiny corpse. With how it had been preserved, as well as how small and fragile it was, any attempts at an autopsy had been vetoed. There would be an X-Ray scan done in a couple days, but for now the attention remained focused on what they could find out from the remains through simple visual clues.

"Yes," the pureblood snapped, "bloody muggleborns…"

"Khufu, shut up and let us concentrate," Calden ignored his partner's temper with practiced ease. His attention was quite focused on their victim, "Hmm, Reggie, what do you make of this?"

The scientist stepped around the table so he could get a better look at where Calden was pointing. Jonas frowned thoughtfully, "It is rather unusual."

"From the way his skull is collapsed, I wouldn't call it unusual. I'd call it down right bizarre."

"I can see how you would," Jonas drawled, then batted away Calden's ungloved hand, "He shouldn't have been able to even get into this position unless purposely posed."

Calden nodded, "I know, but his fingers are curled and tight around the remains of his clothing—you see where it's all but fused with his fists?"

"Most unusual," Jonas repeated, "It implies that he survived the initial blow to the head, but that should have been impossible. Unless…" he turned the child's body around, examining the skull carefully, "Ah, look here, Jon."

"What am I looking for?"

"You see this pattern of fractures?"

It took him a moment, trying to see though the remains of hair and skin tissue that clung to the edges of the broken cranium, but he did eventually find the fractures. He blinked in surprise, "Is that… did it start to _heal?_"

Jonas nodded, carefully running a gloved finger along the edge of the damaged area, "It would appear that he received more than a single blow to the skull, with enough time between them for the bones to begin to knit back together. Khufu?"

"What?" the pureblood would never admit that he was curious as to how these two men were deducing such things from the corpse. Wizards had their own methods, certainly, but dealing with a corpse in anything even remotely resembling this level of care and attentiveness was entirely new to him.

"If you're going to stand around like that, you might as well be useful. Grab that camera over there; we're going to need to document all the evidence," when the man had picked up the camera he turned it over curiously for a moment. Muggle and Wizarding cameras were very similar to one another, though it would seem that Muggles went for smaller devices while Wizards always seemed to try and make things larger. The camera felt uncomfortably small in his hands. Jonas ignored the look on his face, and began to direct him. "Come over here. Now, you see where I'm holding the scale?"

Writewind blinked, "That little black and white thing?"

Jonas smiled in amusement, "Yes, the little black and white thing. I need you to make sure that it is in the shot that you take of these breakage patterns."

The pureblood nodded. This was something he could do within the muggle world, though he still felt rather uncomfortable with the whole thing. He frowned as he attempted to zoom in with the camera, without losing sight of the scale, "Jon, could you move the hair out of the way?"

His partner nodded and reached out to pull the hair out of the way just enough that Writewind would be able to take a clear shot of the fractures. This just so happened to bring his bare fingers into contact with the boy's skull; Calden promptly yelped.

It was not because he had touched dead tissue, as he had done that many times before, or even because the dead flesh belonged to a child. No, he yelped because a spark of magic spiked through his system from that brief contact.

Writewind's jaw had dropped open, and Jonas looked equally as gobsmacked.

"That… that's impossible."

"It just happened," Calden snapped, "So I'd say it's damn possible."

"It shouldn't be!" Writewind couldn't seem to find the right words, his mouth working soundlessly for a long moment before he finally managed to snap out a harsh, "A child ten months dead shouldn't have any magic left within his body, let alone ten_ years_!"

* * *

End Chapter 

Of course, this is totally a chapter of, like, filler. There's more to come with wizards and magic and everything, but I had to set a few things up first, so be patient with me my darling readers

Gee, I haven't had a want to write something in a long while. Hope this lasts.


	3. Chapter 3

It's chapter three-ilicious!

…don't ask.

* * *

**Prophecy Bound**  
_Chapter Three_  
The Itch

* * *

Mystery upon mystery upon mystery… That was what it seemed that the Potter boy was around to cause for the investigators. The first mystery was one that had been easy enough to solve; _why hadn't Harry answered his letter_ had such a simple, if horrifying, answer. _How had he died _was a question that they had only begun to touch upon before they were confronted with this new and most unusual of magical mysteries.

Of course, if one was to go back ten years, then they still had the greatest and most speculated mystery involving the young Potter: _How did a baby kill the Dark Lord?_ That particular mystery was actually leading to a bit of speculation between Writewind and Calden, even as Jonas continued to take note on the tiny. He had forbidden Calden to come any closer to the body than ten feet, worried that whatever it was that had jumped between the man and the body may have formed some sort of connection between them.

Calden had shuddered at the thought of that; bonded to a _corpse_! Even if it was the "Boy-Who-Lived", he dearly hoped not.

"Are you absolutely positive that it's not some obscure dark magic?"

Khufu shot Calden a rather sour look, "I have told you a _dozen_ times, Jon. My family is of Egyptian descent, not bloody European. If this is a dark spell then it's from the European branch, not Egyptian. And I wouldn't have a bloody clue either way as I am _pureblooded_ not bloody _dark._"

"Still," Calden was certainly struggling; desperately trying to figure out what it was that was still 'trapped' within the corpse, "No one knows what happened that night! You-Know-Who may have left something behind like… like… like a bomb!"

Jonas didn't even raise his head, though it was quite a surprise to realize that their victim was _that_ child. Neither of his fellow investigators seemed to realize that they had accidentally let the cat out of the bag, as it were.

Writewind's sour gaze had turned sharp and mocking, "Oh yes. Because a bomb is the _first_ thing any true pureblooded European wizard things of when they want to leave something behind for the Aurors." Granted, the only reason why Khufu was as familiar with bombs as he was had to do with his family's personal history. That wasn't the point of this argument, however.

"I didn't that it_was_ a bomb, you Egyptian bastard!" Calden snapped back, "I said that it was _like_ a bomb: something that was set to detonate after a certain period of time."

Jonas figured that now was about the time to stop this argument before the other two really got into it. When they switched from Writewind's normally mocking curiosity of muggles and Calden's admittedly laughable attempts to "subtly" understand pureblooded culture to insulting one another's ethnic backgrounds, experience told him that it would only be a few moments before they started to act like ten year old boys. And as everyone knew, ten year old boys tended to get pretty physical in their fights.

A physical battle between two men in general, and these two in particular, especially one that was in this lab was not something that Jonas wanted to deal with. After all, this little boy wasn't the only murder that the department was currently dealing with, and any destruction of evidence in any case would come back to bite them. Suspension time, and internal investigation, notoriety in the muggle world, possible jail time…

Oh no, Reginald Jonas_definitely_ didn't want to have to deal with any of that.

"Jon, if that were the case, then it would have gone off ten years ago, not wait around in a corpse just so that you could set it off with your touch."

Calden stared at the other investigator for a long moment before seeming to deflate, "Yeah. You're right. I was being daft, huh?"

"More than," Writewind grumbled, "Reg is right. Any magic "bomb" that may have been left behind would have wrought its destruction shortly after the death of its caster."

"Hmm…" Calden was agreeable to that, at least, though as a thought struck him, he slanted his head towards the corpse that he couldn't get close enough to investigate for himself, "Do you think that that could have contributed to his death?"

"If that were so, the spark would have been just a remnant of whatever it was," and Writewind was perfectly willing to agree with this line of thought. "There have been documented cases where an enchantment long thought to be faded had one last 'spark' of life to it."

"There is a small possibility of it," Jonas nodded, "Thought I wouldn't put any stock in that theory. The standard 'exit' regions of any such magical expulsion are the eyes, the ears, the nose, the mouth, and the groin region on the human body."

"The natural openings of the body," Calden was doing his best to attempt to see those areas from ten feet away. It wasn't working out too well, given his lack of hawk eyes.

"Correct," the self-proclaimed technomancer pointed to the eyes with the tip of a metal pointer, though he was careful not to let it actually touch the corpse, "Now look here… I meant Khufu, not you Jon. Do you see any damage at all?"

Khufu shook his head, "None. He looks like he was in pain as he died but—"

"Actually, that's fairly normal for mummies," Jonas chuckled a bit, "The muscles in the face relax after death, and the mouth gapes open. The lips will dry out and shrivel up, giving it that look of screaming pain. It's a lucky man whose mummy doesn't look pained without some outside help of mummifiers."

Writewind looked rather surprised, "You're kidding me. How do you know these things?"

Jonas chuckled, "The muggles have an amazing store of data on mummies and the process of mummification. It's been featured a few times in some of the scientific publications that I follow."

The pureblood had to shake his head, "Unbelievable…"

"It's unbelievable that you two would be discussing this instead of the case," Calden's tone was scolding, "What would our employers think?"

"They'd blame it on you," both men were as confident as could be in this answer. The slightly younger Auror-Investigator gave them both a dirty look.

"They would not."

"Jon… on the last four cases they've walked in on you not doing your job," Jonas looked more amused that he should have been at Writewind's comment. Even as Calden attempted to explain that taking a nap in the break room after a thirty-six hour shift was perfectly reasonable, and that their employers just liked cruel and unusual punishment, Jonas was speaking up.

"In any case, the child's facial structure is very well preserved. There's no damage to the skull other than the previously identified cranial damage. We can safely rule out any form of magical self-explosion."

"What if it escaped through the damage to the skull?" Calden wasn't quite ready to let this avenue of investigation go, and it was a reasonable question to ask.

"Then we would have seen the fragments of the skull either in the trunk he was found in, or not at all. Instead, the scalp has kept the fragments within the braincase," Reginald directed their attention to the damaged area, "As you can see, the angle of damage is inwards, not out like you would find with a magical explosion."

Writewind had to shake his head as Calden attempted to find another explanation that would fit both the evidence and the theory of a magical "release". Actually, the Egyptian was trying to figure that particular theory out for himself, but all of his solutions seemed to be on the "not bloody possible" end of the scale. He frowned a bit at that thought; impossible things couldn't be ruled out with this particular child, though, as he had a bad tendency to _make_ them possible.

"We could attempt a magical scan and see what remains within the body, even after all this time."

"There is a chance that it could cause some level of damage to the body," Jonas jumped in, "While it's a small possibility, the fact that it's there makes me leery of attempting it. Though the child has been mummified, he is still a child of few years and therefore naturally quite fragile. There is also the fact that England is not generally conduction to the creation of mummies, and with his status as a_magical_ mummy, I won't want to accidentally destroy any information that his remains can provide."

Calden blinked, as though this were the key to a puzzle he'd been trying to figure out for some time. "Is _that_ why you're holding off on the X-Ray?"

Jonas gave a sharp nod, "Yes. I want to have the child's condition fully documented before we do any form of scans, either muggle or magical. The idea is to make sure that the man who could do this sort of thing to a young child cannot get away with it ever again."

Writewind nodded as well, "That's quite understandable."

The muggleborn Investigator frowned, "If you would just let me back over there, we could get this done in half the time."

"No," Jonas' tone brooked no argument, "We don't have any idea of what sort of damage that may have been caused to either you or the remains from that little spark, so I don't want you doing anything that could set it off again. There is other evidence that you can look at, Jon."

He sighed at that, a little sulky. He wanted to work with the child's remains; he wanted so desperately to find out what it was that had been done to the little saviour, and help to lay that child to rest. It looked like, however, that he would have to rely on working with evidence other than the mummified remains of the young Potter, "Alright. I'll look at the chest that he was found in, and see if anything has come back from the on-site investigations."

The man slipped out the door like an eel, though his determined expression was more likened to that of a dog with a bone. He would do his best to put this travesty before the law, and come hell or high water, he planned to see this through to the end. Writewind watched him go with something of an amused smile, "He's going to be stuck on this for years."

"Child deaths have always been a sort point for him," Reginald murmured, still documenting the tiny corpse, "Always flares up about them; especially in cases of familial abduction and abuse."

"Mmm," the pureblood nodded distractedly, "Do you need me to remain here, Reg?"

The man looked up with a bemused expression, "Why?"

"I was thinking that I could look through some of the books and scrolls that I have access too; see if there's any record that matches what we've seen so far with this child," He was already going through a mental inventory of his family's extensive library.

"No, no. Go right ahead," Jonas tipped his head towards the door, "I know how much bodies disturb you."

Writewind scowled, even as his cheeks pinked and gave away his embarrassment, "They don't_disturb_ me. I'm just… not used to dealing with them for any length of time."

"They disturb you," Reginald chuckled. Khufu felt that the appropriate response would be to chuck something at the man's head, but he knew better than to start something up with Jonas. He shook his head in exasperation before he, too, left the lab. There was a lot of information that he was going to have to pick through, but he was sure that he would find_something_ in those records.

Family lore said that they reached back as far as Khasekemwy and the end of the Second Dynasty. And _that_, after all, was four thousand years ago.

* * *

End Chapter

Still with the filler. Sorry guys! Though next chapter we should start getting some information on plot-thoughts and the like, as well as the (planned, but we know how my plans go) return of Albus Dumbledore. A few notes on the information provided in this chapter…

I'm not a forensic scientist. I'm an archaeologist. My area of expertise is the Near East, though the reason behind the focusing on Egyptian in this story (instead of Assyrian or Babylonian, which I'm far more familiar with) is due to the fact that I'm currently taking a course in Egyptian Arky, and am half using this as a way to use up the knowledge I gained from writing my term paper. Yes, I am that awesome.


End file.
